Primadonna Girl
by TributeFighter
Summary: Isabella Swan moves through life painfully alone, giving her body & love to those willing to hand her life on a silver platter. On a visit to the grave of a father she never knew, can a certain ethereal vampire with demons of his own finally fill the void? AU, Rated M for possibilities! Based on Primadonna Girl-Marina & The Diamonds & themes from Daughter of Smoke&Bone-Laini Taylor
1. Primadonna Girl

**A/N: Hellooooo! It's been forever since I've posted anything & if you were one of the few people that read my other story, THANK YOU for giving this a try. I hope you won't be disappointed. Anywhooo, I'm always listening to Marina & The Diamonds, but this song just put me in front of the computer & quite literally told me to write _something. _All identifiable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, & no copyright infringement is intended! Some quotes from the UHMAYYZINNN' "Daughter of Smoke & Bone" novel by Laini Taylor are in here, & no copyright infringement is intended! Tell me what you think!**

The jeans she wore were tight enough. Tight enough for the boys—young and especially old—to admire and think about her long after she'd walked by. But she wore jeans so rarely; it was a treasure to witness her hips sashaying from side to side thanks to the natural curvature of her feminine body.

She'd often wear vintage pieces so form-fitting; it appeared that the original designer so many years past had intended them for her all along. She'd wear these tiny, curve-hugging dresses underneath tiny mink shrugs, as soft and as shiny as the flowing chestnut locks atop her head, when she took lone cab rides in and around the various cities she lived in during her mid-twenties. Many times, the balding, male cab drivers, and unsurprisingly, a few of the female ones too, compared her hair to Nutella. Just as luscious and likely just as delicious in its scent.

The drivers' mind often wondered, as they admired her through their dingy, greased rearview mirrors, if she came from money, or if she'd earned her success. They often settled on imagining her as a trust-fund brat whose parents had died long ago and left her with a shitload of money. And upon closer inspection, a kind of loneliness, a missingness, a solitude evident through the stoic brown orbs that'd bewitched so many, but pleasured so few. And though she lied to herself in front of the mirror, morning after morning, that she was most comfortable alone, peaceful in her choice to give her body to those miserable few worth her time—and who'd eventually willingly hand over all their material possessions to lay beside her in pleasure, she was overwrought with misery each day when the sad, painful truth hit. She was lonely, in the simplest of terms.

But at the end of every morning in front of a mirror, she put on her most dazzling smile, her fake smile that'd inevitably become her regular, everyday smile and headed into days filled with endless credit card swiping, hip swaying, and solidarity. She fooled herself into thinking that this lifestyle was most suited to her, who'd actually come from poverty—despite the popular held belief among sleazy cab drivers everywhere—and desired to never feel that despair of wanting everything, and knowing that such desire stemmed from the absentee father who'd left when she was still a bundle of joy in Renee's arms. This lifestyle protected her from ever having to return to people like Jacob Black who thought she could be handled easily, and a box of chocolates and flowers could satisfy.

This lifestyle protected her from the—though she wouldn't confess it to anyone else—utter emptiness she felt after she'd left Jake. And emptiness that was like the soul's version of putting on a wet bathing suit, clammy and miserable, just like the way that loneliness is worse when you return to it after a reprieve. But the need for _moremoremoremore_ always _more_ led her to break away from him and the small-town life he'd always lead.

Two days before it was to be Charlie's death's seventeenth anniversary (he'd died when she was twelve and tenacious and still developing and couldn't ascertain the unexplainable strong emotions she felt for an estranged man who'd left her and her mother when they needed him the most), Isabella Swan made her way to her just as estranged hometown.

Forks, Washington held only her mother & her father's grave to return to, something which she'd never realized was actually really…_depressing_. She couldn't quite place _why_ she was here, of all places, of all people, returning to the stinkhole she'd craved to leave, and she'd had the wits to actually leave behind to find herself about ten years prior when she'd made her way to USC and _made _something of herself. She hadn't been back since her college graduation, when she'd seen the soft, but defined crinkling corners of Renee's eyes when she hung up Bella's Master's Degree in Communications beside her high school diploma from Forks High. Renee had _insisted_ Bella hang the degree in her own home, claiming that it was her accomplishment, her achievement.

But Bella recognized the longing in her mother's stare, the longing for proof of the ability to leave Podunk, Washington behind and become someone. It was Bella then who insisted Renee keep it, who, by then, knew her life would not involve a permanent anything, including a relationship. Especially a romantic one. She saw those yearning for love as cats, always meowing p_et me, pet me, look at me, _love_ me._ Isabella Swan was not anyone's pet kitty. No, she was the lioness, feral in her eternal desire for the big diamond ring, the _world _at her fingertips. And even though she could have done it all on her own, through hard work and use of the education she'd gotten years before, she chose the easy life, trading the softness of the small of her back, her smooth fingertips for the endless adoration and money of those she wrapped around her finger.

When Isabella knocked on the red door to Renee's humble home, she realized that there was no need. The spare key had always sat underneath the weathered 'Welcome' mat, and it was highly unlikely Renee had moved it. But after years of unreturned phone calls, ignored letters and e-mails, she'd done just done that. Renee would have never pictured that in her quest for liberation from Forks, Bella would become a _whore._ She hated the word, its implications, but that's what she figured Bella had become. When the door creaked open, Renee's suspicions were confirmed. Bella, clad in leaving-little-to-the-imagination tight cargo pants, high heels and a dangerously low-cut top under a long cardigan, was nothing like the baggy pants, t-shirt and Converse wearing, hunched-over Bella who she remembered. No, this Bella was wearing too much money and Renee could guess where the money had come from. When Bella had replied to Renee's letter about six years prior, the _last _letter Bella had replied to, actually, she'd mentioned an advertising firm in Dallas, Texas where she claimed to be working. Following endless phone calls, desperate pleads in letters, and useless phone calls to the advertising firm, Renee was hopeless. A tiny shred of hope came to her in a phone call one day when the assistant of the CEO of the firm let Renee know that she'd contacted Human Resources. They held no record of any Bella, or Isabella Swan ever working, or even applying for a position. But the assistant did confirm Renee's suspicions. Mr. CEO, Brian Wilkins, had recently divorced and eloped with an Isabella Dwyer. There was too much of a coincidence there for Renee to comfortably invite her own daughter into the house.

So it was without hesitation that Renee stood her ground and said, "Stop squandering yourself, child. Wait for love." And with conviction in her voice, Renee slammed the door, with tears in her eyes, in Bella's face. It isn't easy to close the door on your only child, but when said child essentially sells herself for _stuff,_ it's certainly justified. Bella didn't have time to react to her mother's rejection, and stood agape. Rejection was just as rare as the pants she wore that day. She raised her hand to try for a second chance, to be let in, but she knew it'd be fruitless. Renee had made her point and Bella had no choice but to find somewhere else to stay. Fleetingly, the thought of driving down to La Push and visiting an old flame came to her before she could stop it. There was nothing there, and then the thought of the last place that held some value to it came to her. Her father's burial site was her last hope.

**A/N: Sooo? Yes, no? TELL ME! Put this story on alert cause I've got chapter two nearly completed! As you can tell, Bella's facing some issues. What shall happen next...?!**

**Song Recommendation for Chapter 1: Obviously, **

**Primadonna Girl by Marina & The Diamonds.**

**'Cause it's just good and fabulous and everything nice & good about this world :D**


	2. Hometown Glory

**A/N: I can't believe I've finished this chapter! I was so happy to see some people actually put this story on alert. Trust me, I'm just as hopeful for this story as you are!** **All identifiable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, & no copyright infringement is intended! Some quotes from the UHMAYYZINNN' "Daughter of Smoke & Bone" novel by Laini Taylor are in here, & no copyright infringement is intended! Tell me what you think!**

Forks Cemetery held an eerie entrance, replete with well-worn stones and a defined footpath leading to the resting place of so many who'd lived what Bella considered the worst tragedy imaginable: To have been born and died in Forks.

En route to Renee's house the past few days, she felt she couldn't recognize why she was headed back to the town that saw her blossom in the first half of her life. But in the utter solidarity of the first-class plane seat by the window, she had to face herself. Something which she hated more than the half-hearted attempts many geezers made to try and get her number. Or her body. In that plane seat, though, she told herself she was going back to check on Renee. After all, it'd been almost ten years since she'd last seen her, and over five years since she'd last had contact with her.

In all sincerity, it'd been the single age spot she'd found under her right eye during one of her daily, meticulous bodily inspections opposite the mirror behind Mark Young's bathroom door. She was nearing thirty; she supposed it would be another ten years before aging caught up to her. She'd been careful, eating like a supermodel, exercising as if she were an Olympian in training, applying sunscreen on every visible part of her body before she walked out into the cities' varying degrees of pollution and sun exposure. It seemed, though, that despite all her regimens and careful treatment of the body that kept her materially satisfied, her age, which she never divulged to the foolish, unsuspecting lovers she encountered, was indeed catching up to her. She'd irrationally held fast to the mantra instilled in her from the unlikeliest source—her freshman English Literature teacher at USC. He'd been the dreamy, absolutely _sexy_ English teacher high school girls like Bella that adored the likes of Mr. Darcy, longed for. He'd been her first carnal sexual encounter, something that should have gotten her kicked out of the university for sure if his wife had told. Luckily for all parties involved, she kept her mouth shut, deciding a divorce would prove more of a hassle than never letting Mr. Roland forget his momentary fall into the willing arms of Isabella Swan.

To this day, Mr. Roland had been the best of lovers, shaming even those who showered her with gifts and baubles. The way he took her unreservedly and shamelessly on the classroom desk where he pondered the genius of Charles Dickens or Jane Austen wearing hints of a crooked smile on the lips she loved to caress when they fucked. It was just that, she later realized. Nothing but a good fuck. She wasn't one to complain though, after all, it was the mantra that he'd disclosed the last day she saw him so many years ago that led her to the lifestyle that supported her now.

_"I don't know many rules to live by," he said. "But here's one. It's simple. Don't put anything unnecessary into yourself. No poisons or chemicals, no fumes or smoke or alcohol, no sharp objects, no inessential needles—drug or tattoo—and… no inessential penises, either."_

_"Really, Pete? No __inessential penises__?" she asked in disbelief. He'd just ended it and she worried about what she'd do without the man who'd brought her to the brink of pleasure for so long now. Raising a hand to caress her hair, he insisted, "You have to understand. I'm married. You knew tha—"_

_"—the hell I knew! You said it was nothing serious, that she was just a girl, and that I wa—I am the only one." Unwilling to give in to the painful resignation she knew would come, she awaited his response. _

_He took a deep breath. _

_Slightly narrowed his eyes. _

_Sighed._

_"But you were okay with being the _other _girl."_

It would be such a long time before she got over Pete Roland's heartbreak. For so long, she hunched around, unwilling to accept the rejection, the tear-inducing refusal. Leaving Jake was minute in comparison to Pete's goodbye. Jake couldn't stand against Pete's rough fingertips and possessive hands. What she and Jake had done had been in the dark, with The Smashing Pumpkins silently playing to their child-like sex. It couldn't possibly compare. That is why Bella never considered returning to Jake's impossibly happy self, a happy self she, no doubt, broke real bad. She thought that Pete had finally filled that emptiness within. But not Pete, and especially not Jake, ever did the task. She thought, facing the mirror of her college dorm,

_I deserve better than this. _

_I _need_ better than this._

And thus, Isabella Swan became Isabella Dwyer and willingly gave herself to those worth her time. There were a select few of those, who loved her, were bewitched by her, mystified by the mystery she was. She never said where she came from, what she did, where she'd studied. No, she was there for the superficial. That's all that she could ever get from them, and what she convinced herself could satisfy the cavernous emptiness.

Then there was that silly shit Pete had dared to tell her right before he marched off.

_"Inessential penises?" Bella repeated, delighted with his words despite her grief. "Is there any such thing as an essential one?"_

_"When an essential one comes along, you'll know," he replied._

_An essential one? _

It appeared that though he'd only known her for about a year, Pete Roland had been dead on in his observations. Isabella Swan lacked, craved a presence beside her, solid.

Fingertips light at the nape of her neck and a voice meeting hers in the dark. Someone who would wait with an umbrella to walk her home in the rain, and smile like sunshine when he saw her coming. Who would dance with her on a balcony, keep his promises and know her secrets, and make a tiny world wherever he was, with just her and his arms and his whisper and her trust.

And all those days of utter lonesomeness, even if she was surrounded by people on the outside, thanks to the man lying in the grave in front of her. She sighed as she sat atop his grave, disregarding all politeness in regards to a grave. He was dead and he'd left so many years before he'd done so. Who was he to demand respect? Besides, there was no one around to start off a chain of whispers in town about "that damned man Charlie's grave and his daughter—who hasn't been back in town at all for a few years, mind you—sitting on top of it, can you believe it?!" And even if they did start their whispering, which Bella had come to expect, she'd hold her head high and ignore absolutely all it. She'd grown too emotionally detached in the years she'd left Forks to allow anything to get to her.

It hurt Bella to see there were no flowers, not even wilted ones, atop Charlie's grave. By the looks of the dirty, grimy headstone, it appeared no one had bothered to visit lately, either. She felt silly talking to a grave, but found an odd comfort long forgotten, an odd comfort she hadn't felt since the late-night lovemaking with Pete or the easygoing conversations with Jake so many years past.

"I don't know where to go. Who to talk to."

The way her voice broke at the end wasn't lost on her and she shed a tear, hoping the hopes she held on to for so long as a happy child and later as a bitter teenager. Hoping that there'd been a father figure in her life, that Renee had found someone else regardless of Charlie's betrayal and departure. Because if there'd been someone there to guide her, to advise her on how a woman should be loved, cared for, cherished, she wouldn't have had the need to go out there and find it with other men.

The waterworks intensified with the self-recognition that a plan to stay satisfied through many other men could only work for so long and that that plan was inevitably reaching its limit.

There was absolutely no way anyone not within a five feet radius could recognize the agony in Isabella's posture and tears. Someone would have to have been right beside her to see the way that she hugged herself tight and the way she silently wept was for a life she never had—and never could.

But not a mile from where Isabella Swan rocked herself in a momentary flash of misery and hopelessness stood a vampire who was fighting a war within to soothe the beast and give in to the venom-inducing, best-thing-you-have-ever-tasted scent before him. A war that would decide the fate of the two creatures at Forks Cemetery that day.

**A/N: Dun-dun-DUNNNN! ****Who's this mysterious vampire ? I think we can all take a guess! Well, lovelies, Spring Break's done with, and I may not update until next weekend since life always has this thing about **_**getting in the way!**_** No worries, though, I won't leave you hanging for too long.**

**Song Recommendation for Chapter 2: This time, it's **

**Hometown Glory by Adele.**

**'Cause Adele is the Queen and it happened to be playing while I was writing this:)**

**Don't forget to review & lemme know ****_anything_****!**

**Till next time!**


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